World Downfalls and Chocolate
by DistilledAria
Summary: Another world summit, a week you've dreaded. Then comes along a hot headed Italian, who seems to want to smite every living thing. Are you two both up for a strenuous week together? Can a box of chocolates really change two countries' relations for the better? Will France ever give up on capes? YouxRomano
1. Introduction

_Aiyah, this took me longer to get out than expected. Alas, no more wait, my Romano story is here! As promised, at the end of this 7-8 chapter story there will be a special treat ;)_

_Hetalia, or any country, does not belong to me._

**…**

You flung your luggage on one of the beds. The World Summit was in Belgium this year. You wouldn't have felt any different about the event, except as you boarded the train en route, something was off. The whole trip was pointing to disaster in its midst. On your plane ride, there was a glitch where the oxygen masks randomly fell, causing all of the passengers to go into panic. Then you almost got run over as you were crossing over to the to the hotel. Narrowly missing the dirty puddle, you were extra vigilant as you checked into your room.

And finally there was the fact that you'd be sharing your room with another nation. An _unknown _nation. By the looks of it, they hadn't arrived yet. You started to unpack. Belgium would surely pair you with Hungary. The host country didn't hold a grudge against you. Well, there was that time with the hedge trimmers…

The ding of the elevator sounded down the hall, followed by muffled talking. You strained your ears, it sounded like a male and a female. Maybe Hungary had Austria along as an escort. You pretended to occupy yourself with unpacking. When she walked in the room, you'd hug each other, bid a polite farewell to Austria, then stay up late, gossiping about the various countries. You smiled. As long as she was here, your uneasiness would dissolve. You just needed a friend.

The voices got closer. You heard something click, then the door slam next to your room. You slumped. That might've not been Hungary…and if it was, there was still Ukraine or Liechtenstein…

You pulled your personal bag out and trudged to the bathroom. At least the hotel was nice. Spacious bathroom with a good sized shower and tub combo. Oh, and look! There were little Belgian chocolates on the counter! You glanced from side to side. Hmm, your partner wasn't here yet, so they wouldn't notice if…

The slamming of the door made you jump.

"Go away, Veneziano!"

"Ve~ I just want to see who your roommate is!"

_Romano? _There was no way _he _could be your roommate, he must have the wrong room number…

You vaguely remembered your underwear being displayed on the bed and ran out of the bathroom. Sure enough, the dark haired Italian was standing in the doorway, shoving his lighter brother's head out.

"Go to your own room! Don't you have Japan or someone to meet up with?"

Italy's rarely opened eyes widened.

"(name)?" he said.

Romano spun around. You sheepishly smiled.

"Hello."

"You and Roma are roommates? Ve, that's not fair!"

"Umm…"

You shifted to block the view of your bed.

"You must have the wrong room number. Is it 213?"

"Dammit, yes!"

Romano rubbed a hand over his face. You looked around nervously.

"Er, there has to be some mistake. I'll call Belgium."

So you did.

"Nope. No mistake," she retorted, distracted.

"Oh, is that so?"

You aimed a false smile to the brothers, then ducked into the restroom.

"What the hell were you thinking? Putting me to _room _with him?"

"I don't see the problem. You two seem compatible enough. After all, you use the same vocabulary."

There was teasing in her tone. You scowled.

"Isn't there a rule to put together a male and female roommate?"

She laughed flatly.

"You think the only people checking into hotels are single and of the same gender?"

There was an uncomfortable silence as you sulked. Absurd as it seemed, you knew you weren't convincing her out of this pairing.

"You'll be fine," she assured. "I can't think of anyone better to be with little Romano. Besides, I had _way _too many requests for you."

"I-augh-"

The phone clicked on the other end. You took a deep breath and strode out of the bathroom. _Still okay, it's still okay. This will be like any other world summit._

When you viewed the room, you came to the conclusion it would _not _be okay. There was absolutely no privacy between the two beds, nor anywhere in the room. It was all open-spaced. You would have to work out a schedule for the bathroom. Romano looked like one of those "well-kept" men…with his two black designer suitcases…taking up all the room in the closet...

"What happened?" Italy asked, snapping you out of your mental rant.

"Um, well,"

Your eyes flitted to Romano, who was angrily looking to the side. Argh, he had to not skip this _one _meeting. Perfect. Everything was falling in place for you. Just perfect.

"Belgium can't switch us around, it sounds like the hotel is pretty packed. I'm guessing some other nations had to accommodate each other."

Your eyes wandered around again. There wasn't any wall or divider curtains!

"So?" Romano snapped.

"_So, _we're stuck together," you said back calmly.

"Ve, maybe you could room with Japan and me, _fratello_?"

"I'm not sleeping on the freaking _floor_."

"What about Spain? He'd give up his bed for you."

"I'm fine with Romano staying here, if he is," you lied.

Italy's eyebrows shot up.

"Ve, really? Anytime Roma's been alone with a lady-"

"Shut up!" Romano yelled, blushing.

"As long as he's not smuggling dead bodies in his suitcase, it'll work out."

They stared at you.

"Um, that was a joke."

Italy hopped up.

"Well, Japan's probably wondering where I am. Have a good time you two! Don't be too rough with (name), Roma! Ci-"

His smiling face was cut off by Romano slamming the door. You grasped your arm nervously. You were starting to get a bit scared.

"They certainly have nice pillows…"

He spun around, his brows furrowed. You resisted flinching. His expression softened a smidge. The moment of calmness was quickly replaced by him storming over to his bed. You threw yourself on yours, hiding your underthings.

"Dammit, you're really not bothered by this?"

"Why would I be bothered?" you kidded.

He sent you a nasty glare.

"Okay, okay, too early, but you don't have to worry. I'll try my best to be accommodating."

You had no idea why you were being so nice, you felt about as ticked off as him. The only sound was the slight hum of the air conditioner.

"I never said I was worried."

He turned his back to you, checking his suitcase.

"Then you don't have to worry about being worried."

You sprawled out on the bed, fishing some of the Belgian chocolate out of your pocket. Hopefully this delicious treat would last you this whole week of the maddening World Summit. As long as it did, you weren't going to go over to Belgium's house and plant a bomb in it.

**…**

_Oh you, rooming with a Italian guy will not be as bad as you think. More of an introduction chapter, but there is more to come! Keep reading!_


	2. Day 1

_Quick shout out to all my lovely ongoing readers! You guys get a virtual cookie! Any reviews/favs really help ^^. _

_I have a busy week upcoming, but I'll try to squeeze in some updates._

_Enjoy~_

**…**

**Day 1: Cooking**

"Did you see this memo?"

"Hmm?" you said, coming out of the bathroom.

Romano slapped it on the bed. Must be bad if he was acting this temperamental already. You picked it up, your eyes skimming the page.

"Oh no she didn't."

She did. Belgium had organized a week's worth of cooperative events. With your assigned _roommate. _You now swore she was tormenting every country on purpose. Not only after three hours' worth of early morning arguments were you going to have to get out and collaborate with the _same people_.

"Where are the events listed?" you asked. Perhaps it would be simple things, like shopping for chocolate. You could put up with that.

Romano sneered.

"That's the thing. It's a dumb surprise that will be announced directly after each meeting. Now there's a reason to go to those stupid conferences."

You sighed and sat next to him on the bed.

"We're all in this together."

"That's the problem."

You observed his face. He wasn't yelling and punching the walls; that was a good sign. You felt a little bad; Romano didn't come to every meeting. As his brother had told you, he felt unimportant, only representing half of a country. He also didn't get along so easily with the other nations.

You smoothed your uniform. You'd be with him, you would try to be optimistic, even though you hated the situation as much as him.

"Well, let's not be late."

…

At the meeting, less pleasantries than usual had been exchanged. Romano put out a "stay away or I'll strangle you" vibe that tended to put people off. You spotted Hungary who was, of course, with Austria. It wasn't fair that _she_ got paired with who she wanted!

You found your seat at the long wooden conference table. Belgium had taken the liberty to place everyone next to their partner. It seemed you couldn't get away from them.

"_Hola__, amigos!" _a cheerful voice rang out.

You glanced at the name plate next to yours. _Oh no. _Romano clenched his fists. The tan nation ran up to you, smiling as carefree as ever.

"(name), Roma. How nice we're sitting together! I usually don't get to sit next to my little _tomate_!"

He reached out his hand to pet Romano's head.

"Uh, so, Spain, who's your partner?" you interjected.

He squinted his green eyes.

"Hmm, where did he wander off to…"

"_Salut!"_

You paled.

"Ah, forgive me Antonio, I was conversing with our friend Prussia."

The blonde's expression morphed when he saw you.

"_Mon petit."_

He kissed you hand, lingering longer than necessary.

"You are _Monsieur_ Romano's partner?"

He scratched his stubble, looking from Spain to you.

"Maybe we could switch partners. You room together, _non_?"

Romano's face became redder and redder. When you were sure he was going to explode, Belgium called out to start the meeting. You took your seat, maintaining a positive atmosphere that you hoped rubbed off on the Italian. On normal circumstances, you would've made it _quite clear _to the two nations on the other side of you that this was _professional._

The summit droned on, economy downfalls, governments problems, pollution issues, you were all too familiar with it. You desperately tried to pay attention, but you could see Romano constantly fidgeting and glancing at you. Not only that, but France switched seats with Spain so that he was right by you. You scooted uncomfortably closer to Romano whenever you felt his hand inching closer to your thigh.

When you were sure the meeting was about to end, you gathered up all your papers, eagerly waiting.

"Now, before I adjourn this meeting," Belgium said.

You slumped back in the chair.

"I'm sure you all got my memo."

There was an assortment of groans.

"After each meeting, to keep the suspense, I'll reveal the partner event. And yes, each of you are expected to attend.

"I promise it will be fun and worthwhile. Who knows what we can all gain from this experience? So, today's challenge is…"

You cocked an eyebrow. Challenge?

"Cooking!"

There was mixed responses.

"Each of you will prepare a dish from one of your countries. You will gather ingredients at a shop of your choice, then go to a public kitchen that I've texted you the address to. At eight P.M. tonight you will bring your dish back for a taste test. There will be first, second, and third prizes!"

You crossed your arms, contemplating this whole deal. Romano was a pretty good cook. You glanced to your right. But there were the master chefs France and Spain, not to mention some others like China and Turkey. You saw some movement from across the table and smirked. There was England…

Romano elbowed you.

"Hey, let's cook from Italy. I, um, don't know much about preparing your cuisine."

You smiled, knowing he flat out refused any foreign foods. This was a polite request from him.

"Agreed. We'll get a head start to the store if we leave now."

…

You made your way to a quaint Belgian corner store. Romano ignored anything else and headed straight toward the international section. Luckily, the Italian section was one of the largest.

You tapped your foot, idly looking over shelves. Romano's arms were full of sauces, seasonings, now searching for the most important part: the pasta. You wished there was more you could do, but you didn't want to interrupt him. The dish was from one country, so it should be shopped for by _one _country. You would help with the preparation.

Your eyes trailed to the German section. There was several colored packages. Sausages, fizzy water, and…your eyes widened. Chocolate covered caramel wafers? You bent down. Oh, _yum_.

You felt hands on your shoulders, then was forcefully turned around.

"You are _not _eating potato bastard food," he said lowly.

You sighed, again facing the shelves of pasta. There wasn't any chocolate covered caramel wafers here. Romano browsed on, sneering at some of the ingredients. Your eyes wandered aimlessly around, then a devilish smile grew on your face.

"Man, I need some sweet Italian buns right now."

Romano's mouth dropped open.

"W-what?"

You angled you head away, responding with a vague:

"Mmhmm."

His amber eyes were now as wide as pancakes. You grabbed the bag of rolls off the shelf and pointed to the label.

"_Sweet Italian buns."_

You smiled sweetly. Romano pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Augh, y-you bastard."

"What?"

"Nothing."

…

When you arrived at the public kitchen, a few pairs of nations were already at their stations. You started to unload the bags of ingredients while Romano was prepping the utensils. Your eyes lingered on the competition.

"Shoot, I forgot about your brother. What if he's making the same dish as us?"

Romano washed off the fresh produce.

"Cheh, they're probably cooking something from Japan. And in this timeframe, they'll barely get to presenting it."

You threw away the sacks, clearing off the counter space. Romano was already chopping away. He had managed to sneakily slip on a girly apron without you seeing. You ignored and stepped beside him, peering over his shoulder.

"What do you want me to do?"

He was intently focusing on the onions.

"Nothing."

When you didn't budge, he looked toward your serious expression.

"Um, why don't you go drain the zucchini. Outside, it can make a hell of a mess."

"Okay!" you responded happily, stuffing your arms full of the green squash.

You stopped outside on the back steps, examining the vegetable. Beads of water dripped down its side. Now what to do.

You smacked your head. Of course! You forgot to get the grater! Water wouldn't just magically drain out of it. You laid out the zucchini on a paper towel you had brought and swung open the door.

Taking a step towards your section, you paused. Was that Thailand with Romano? He was a pretty good chef as well. You strained to hear the Asian country.

"Yeah, Egypt isn't a help at all. Who's your partner?"

Yes, Romano was actually _talking _to him, without sounding fully irritated.

"(name)," he replied, placing a pot on the stove.

"Oh. Where is she?"

"Cheh, I sent her to drain the zucchini. I don't want her to ruin my cooking."

They both laughed at this.

"Oh yeah, that's right. What did she do that one time…?"

Romano jutted out his hip, attempting to mimic you.

"I'm (name) and my cooking's the best! No one will notice if I dropped these eggs on the floor and burnt them, that adds to the flavor! Heehee!"

He preceded to hit his head with a spice canister. You could hear Thailand's laughter as you stomped back outside.

_Ruin _his cooking? You kicked a zucchini. You could make his cooking ten times better! Him and his fancy fresh seasonings. Well, you liked those German chocolate wafers better than any of that! Maybe your cooking wasn't the best, but you didn't degrade anyone like that.

You kicked another zucchini and slumped down on the steps. This whole partner thing was stupid. Why were even being nice if he wouldn't do the same? You offered to help, at least you could say that.

…

"Hey, what took you so long?"

You ignored him and walked to the refrigerator. He cleared his throat.

"Uh, all that's left is the zucchini fritters."

He looked at you expectantly. You stared blankly back.

"Where's the zucchini?"

You shrugged.

"I lost it."

"Chigi! How do you lose that? It was the main ingredient!"

He began frantically looking around for replacements, cursing in Italian.

"I can't even let you do a simple task!"

You clenched your fists.

"Well, I won't _ruin _your cooking further."

You stomped away, not looking back. If he could manage without his precious zucchini, he could manage without _you_.

…

You lounged on your hotel bed, angrily munching on your Belgian chocolates. You were going to try to have the candy last the whole week, but _you _weren't going to last that long. Maybe you could be like Romano and skip the meetings. Ugh, _Romano._

At first, you had only been upset about the kitchen incident, but as you wallowed around in your hotel room, it had only led to more issues. It was this entire situation that got you fired up, and the worst part was you were being perfectly calm and polite about it. The whole idea was about working together and dual effort, yet you hadn't noticed your partner focusing on any of that.

There was knocking on the door. You pretended it was for another room.

"(name)? Please let me in."

For a second, you thought you were going to leave him out in the hallway, but since he asked so _nicely_. You tiptoed to the door, then ran back to your bed.

"It's unlocked," you called.

You reached in your pocket for a Belgian chocolate to numb your anger, but, sadly, realized they were all gone. Romano cautiously walking in the doorway, a large basket in hands. You resisted the curiosity and looked away. What fine wallpaper.

"We beat the two bad touch idiots; first place."

He sat on the opposite bed. You turned your back to him.

"Belgium said we won because of the coconut fritters I substituted."

"Hmm."

He ran a hand through his hair.

"Dammit (name), talk to me!"

You turned, an icy glare on your face.

"What do you want me to say, Romano? _You _were the person who won."

The melting gaze in his amber eyes made your heart sink, but you remained firm.

"I-I'm sorry, alright? It was just, I actually _did _want to win this, and-"

"Excuses, excuses."

He let out a long sigh.

"Okay. Fine. What I said was mean a-and I was a total douchebag. But I really do like your cooking. If anything, I was just embarrassed. A lot of people find guys cooking…_sissy."_

He looked down at his feet. You smirked.

"That apron was pretty girly."

He scowled, but couldn't repress a slight smile.

"So you forgive me?"

"If you give me the Belgian chocolates."

"Deal."

He threw you the golden wrapped box from the basket. You gave him an extra sweet smile, causing him to glare and turn away. Little did you know, Romano and your relationship would change completely. All because a box of Belgian chocolates.

**…**


	3. Day 2

_Apologies for the long update wait. I've been extremely busy this month, but I will try to get this story back on its regular schedule._

**…**

**Day 2: Soccer**

After brushing through your bedhead, you trudged out of the bathroom. Romano was lounging on his bed, dressed in his finely pressed khaki uniform. His amber eyes didn't advert from the bed covers.

"We alright, bastard?"

Your face lit up in a surprised smile.

"Did you just call me a bastard?"

"I-agh-"

He looked at your expression, his cheeks becoming red.

"Er, sorry. Habit."

"I guess that means we're alright then."

…

The meeting droned on as usual. France was try to grope your leg, Germany was yelling at everyone to get focused, and Italy was happily humming the same enduring tune the entire time. Yup, nothing had changed.

When the time came for Belgium to announce the day's partner activity, all she said was a vague: "Wear your athletic clothes~" Then to meet up at a park just outside of Brussels.

So you and Romano did just that. Walking through the crisply cut green grass, you appraised his choice of clothing. His eyes darted around, trying to ignore your staring. He crossed his arms and gave you a glare.

"Dammit, what?"

You wondered if Romano could go five sentences without swearing.

"Are you sure you want to wear that? You'll get it all dirty."

He furrowed his brows.

"This is my athletic wear."

You shrugged and gazed ahead to the green clearing. Romano's "athletic wear" was a fitted, sheen black polo, an Italian flag embroidered on the collar. He had a matching black jacket with a name of some prestigious designer on the sleeve. His shorts were silver, with black etchings on the side. Everything looked so _expensive_. You knew the Italy brothers were fairly wealthy, but if they wore _that _regularly to play sports…

A gathering of countries came into view, all stretching out on the field. Belgium shielded her eyes from the sun, waving at you.

"Hurry up you guys, we've already set up the teams!"

On her directions, you and Romano split into group two of the countries. Sprinting to your position as forward, you examined your team. Italy, Japan, Finland, and Korea were all defending the goal. Romano, Germany, and China were with you as forwards. Hmm, not bad. You could win. Rising up from touching your toes, you noticed the opposing team.

You were face to face with France, Spain, America, and Lithuania, with England, Prussia, Netherlands, and Denmark at the goal. Oh no. Prussia met your expression with a cocky smile.

"N-not fair!" you shakily yelled to Belgium, who had changed into a striped referee's uniform.

"These teams aren't fair!"

She waved her hand.

"No need to worry, (name). I'll be here watching the whole game."

You rolled your eyes. That made you feel a _whole _lot better.

"Now," she clapped her hands together, "To pick out your team names."

"Pasta!" Italy exclaimed.

"Okay, Team Pasta. Next."

You opened your mouth to object.

"Awesome!" Prussia shouted.

"No-agh, bloody gits," England rubbed his forehead.

"And Team Awesome Bloody Gits."

Everyone looked at each other cluelessly, then a sharp whistle blew.

"Game start!"

You immediately assessed the situation in your mind. Team, er, Awesome Bloody Gits had almost every good soccer player on it, but Germany and the Italy brothers were fairly good. You assured yourself on this when the ball whizzed past you directly to Veneziano. You ran to a perfect position where he could pass to you.

"Italy!" you yelled.

"Ve?"

He turned, causing France to steal the ball. Japan sprinted towards him, but recoiled, shielding his eyes. You squinted, focusing on the Frenchman and- sweet golden lampposts! His shirt was _bright, _blindingly so.

There was a _whoosh_, followed by an eruption of cheers.

"One point for Team Awesome Bloody Gits!" Belgium announced.

You scowled, bee lining for Romano before returning to your position.

"I'll distract France, you steal from him and make for the goal."

He nodded, looking ever so serious in his designer sports clothes. You readied yourself, trying to perfect a glare at France. His shirt was a bright red, the sun seeming to reflect off of it, stunning anyone who came too close. You knew his regular fashion was extravagant, but this was foul play!

The whistle sounded. Just as you predicted, France ran to the ball first. He aimed a pass to America, but was intercepted by Romano. The Italian stole it and dribbled hastily, avoiding looking at the blinding shirt. A glimmer of hope lighted in you. If Romano scored, you'd be evenly matched. All you had to do then was to hold out until the end of the game.

The opposing defenders came up to guard the goal. You ran up behind, ready to sprint up to help. The southern country appeared more than capable, though.

"Go Romano!" you cheered.

He navigated past England swiftly, then Netherlands. Now Prussia…

Right as Romano was a aiming a perfect shot, the albino stole the ball, managing to trip Romano. There was a loud _snap._

"Hey!" you yelled, kicking the ball straight into Prussia's face.

The whistle shrieked.

"Player down!" Belgium called.

"(name), no purposely kicking players!"

You ignored her, hurrying to Romano. He laid on the ground, muttering a string of curses. You knelt by him. His eyes were squeezed shut, his hand on his knee. You figured he would just degrade your mother if you tried talking to him, so instead, you gently removed his hand from his knee.

It was turning red and looked slightly bent out of place. You bit your lip. There was no way he could play like this.

"Hurts like fudge."

He did not say fudge. You laughed weakly and softly rubbed it.

"You need to ice this sucker. Or get a doctor. Seeing a doctor would be better."

He struggled to get up.

"I can still play-"

"Uh, uh."

You place a hand on his finely dressed chest. He scowled, yet sighed when he saw your expression.

"Belgium, Romano's out!" you called.

She trotted over.

"Ooh boy, you're not playing anymore. There's a first aid kit by the bench."

She helped Romano up.

"Wait, is there a replacement player?" you asked.

"I'm sure you'll be fine without one."

You let out a tired groan. Romano reached around to say something, but you were already running off.

…

The rest of the game did not improve. Your defense had barely managed against America and Spain, but when France came up with his flashy shirt, it was over. You and Germany falling back to help had saved Team Pasta from a humiliating defeat, but that also kept you from scoring.

One point, two points,

"0-3, Team Awesome Bloody Gits is in the lead! It's halftime!"

You threw the ball angrily on the ground.

"Take off your shirt!" you shouted.

Everyone's eyebrows shot up.

"What?"

You pointed a sweaty finger at France.

"Take off your stinking cheater shirt!"

An expectant smile sprouted across his face. You knew _that _look.

"That doesn't seem quite fair, _mon cheri._ Unless…"

He paused.

"What?" you barked impatiently.

He cocked an eyebrow.

"Unless you take off your shirt as well, _hon hon hon. _We are both in the same position, _non_?"

Your mouth fell open.

"No way!"

He shrugged.

"Then I am keeping my shirt on."

He began to slowly turn on his heel.

You weighed the decision carefully. If France took off his shirt, the defenders could protect the goal properly, and you and Germany could move back up to forwards. This meant you had a chance at winning, or at least a tie.

But…taking off your shirt? This was probably France's plan all along. You were wearing a sports bra, so it wouldn't be as bad, but _still_…

You sighed. Time to take one for the team.

"Okay."

France spun back around.

"I'll take off my shirt too."

His smile became even brighter.

"Ladies first."

You scowled, tracing your fingers on the bottom of the fabric. Wary of anyone's attention, you speedily threw your shirt off. The air tingled your newly exposed skin. France nodded, looking as if he had just taken part in a satisfying deal.

"Very nice."

You crossed your arms, stomping over to your team's bench. Now you were quite aware of all of their eyes on you. A bit of blood began to trickle out of Japan's nose. You snatched your water bottle and took a swig, not caring if some of it started to roll down your neck to…

"Um," Germany held out his hand.

You trotted away before he could conjure up a practical lecture. Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw France and Spain high fiving. Romano sat on a separate bench, stretching out his leg. You bent down by him.

"Is it feeling better?"

"I think so, but-"

His eye flicked to you, instantly widening.

"What the hell happened to your shirt?" he yelled, loud enough so the other countries quieted.

Now your face was really heating up.

"I, um, got France to take off his blinding shirt, but I had to take off mine as well."

"Idiot! It was probably his intention all along!"

You furrowed your brows, unsure if he aimed the insult at you or France.

"Well, it won't matter now, we're going to win."

He narrowed his amber orbs suspiciously.

"How can you be so sure?"

You smiled.

"I have a plan."

…

Making sure Belgium was distracted, you headed over to the Awesome Bloody Git's bench. At sight of you, Prussia stuck out his tongue, a welt forming where you kicked him. You draped an arm around Netherlands, grinning all the way. The usually unreadable blonde had pink tinting his cheeks.

"You did really great out there, Nethy!"

You announced it loud enough so the Nordic could hear.

"I could see you were doing the most work, haha…"

"I was playing too," Denmark said firmly.

His blue eyes flitted from you to Netherlands. You leaned in closer.

"Really? I didn't even notice you with the amazing Netherlands here."

The same stubborn expression formed on his face.

"I blocked almost _all _of the shots! I'm the best defense we got!" Denmark said.

Netherlands angled his head to acknowledge the Nordic existed.

"That didn't seem to be the case a FIFA," he said in his low tone.

"FIFA was a fluke and you know it!"

"It was perfectly legitimate. I beat you, didn't I?"

You unraveled your arm slowly as an argument began to arise. Denmark and Netherlands were big soccer rivals, since they endlessly griped about the 2010 cup. The Nordic was conceited and Netherlands was easily provoked. If you got the two best defense players more worried about showing each other up, the opposing team's borders were penetrated. Now to destroy them completely…

You sneaked away out of view. If France was going to play dirty and Belgium was going to make everything unfair, you could counter both of these. This whole shirt situation could work to your advantage. After all, you were the only female player in a group of men.

You let your hair out of your ponytail, then lowered the neckline of your sports bra. As the finishing touch, you loosened the straps a tiny bit. Years of war strategizing had taught you well.

The whistle blew, followed by Belgium's announcing. You ran out to the field, vigor returned. The game was back on.

…

As you dribbled down the field, all of your opponents were obviously not entirely focused, for reasons you had _no _idea, of course. Finally you came up to the solid defense, Denmark and Netherlands. Except now they were glaring at each other. You aimed a shot, then kicked. The ball flew right past Netherland's ear.

"Score, Team Pasta!"

You cheered and jumped up, diverting the men's attention even more. France shot you a suspecting look. You just blew him a kiss and returned to your position. Now it was 1-3; you had a chance. All you had to do was score two more goals to be tied.

The shrill whistle filled the silence. With some hustling from Germany, and even better defense from Italy and Japan, you managed to score two more goals.

"3-3, both teams tied! Five minutes left!"

Spain wiped sweat from his brow an focused on you, but not with a friendly expression. He whispered something to France, who ran back and whispered to England, who whispered to Denmark. The Nordic's mouth fell open, then he quickly nodded. He turned to Netherlands, who bobbed his head vaguely. You furrowed your brows. Something was going on.

Readied in your positions, the whistle sounded. You went for the ball without any resistance from the forwards. Strange. You dribbled close to the defenders, then passed to an open Germany. Instantly, Denmark attacked him, tripping the former Axis and taking the ball. Germany stayed on the ground, clutching his ankle.

You gaped, but Belgium didn't call a foul.

"China!" you called.

The Asian nation nodded, running to the ball. As quick as the others, Netherlands was on him. China fell, holding his arm.

"Aiyah!"

Your eyes widened, yet Belgium _still _didn't do anything. Spain had the ball, coming up fast to your goal. Now you were the _only _forward. There was no hope of winning. You quickly recovered, falling back by Italy and Japan. Spain charged, looking like a rampaging bull.

"Ve!" Italy cried, curling up in a ball.

"_Italy!_" Japan hissed, pulling on his shirt.

Spain passed both of them, now only to you and the Korean goalie. You gulped and blocked the goal. Spain focused on aiming upwards. You readied your arms. Then he kicked it, a loud smack sounding on his foot. The ball flew to the opening of your legs. You yelped and instinctively kicked it. _Whoosh_. You clamped your eyes shut. You had just ruined it all!

Oddly, there was silence. You opened your eyes slowly. Spain was staring at you, open mouthed. The other nations had similar expressions. You looked around, confused.

"Uhm," Belgium started.

"Goal! Team Pasta wins!"

Your face morphed in surprise.

"What?"

Before you could process, you were wrapped in the arms of your non-injured teammates.

"(name), you did it!"

"That was a very nice shot."

"We won!"

Cheers escalated. Germany and China managed to get up, adding to the crowd. You shook your head and smiled. Against all odds, you had won.

…

Back at the hotel, you had gotten cleaned up and insisted on wrapping Romano's leg. You carefully laid the gauze around his knee.

"Hey, idiot," he said finally.

"You know, I really am starting to find your nicknames quite endearing."

"I-agh-"

He rubbed his forehead. You hid a smirk.

"Go on."

"That was a-a good shot."

You looked up from the gauze. His gaze was focused intently on the wallpaper. You returned your focus to his leg.

"Thank you."

He looked down and opened his mouth, then winced in pain.

"Dammit, that hurts!"

You rubbed it then got up, grin returned.

"I know what will make it better."

His face went blank.

"Oh. What might that be?"

You raised a finger in the air.

"A piece of Belgian chocolate!"

**…**


End file.
